


For Now (Takahiro Remix)

by ltgmars



Category: Johnny's WEST
Genre: Drinking, M/M, Multi, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-09 03:58:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4332993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ltgmars/pseuds/ltgmars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hamada finds friends in unexpectedly places. The music follows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Now (Takahiro Remix)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://je-wakamono.livejournal.com/profile)[je_wakamono](http://je-wakamono.livejournal.com/) 2015, originally posted [here](http://je-wakamono.livejournal.com/11318.html). My first real take on a WEST fic! It's quiet and meandering and not that exciting, but I feel pretty good about it all the same. :3 Love to [](http://calerine.livejournal.com/profile)[calerine](http://calerine.livejournal.com/) for helping me tighten up my writing a hundredfold, and to [](http://clipsie.livejournal.com/profile)[clipsie](http://clipsie.livejournal.com/) for commiserating with me.

Hamada extends his hand low over the counter, fingers cupped and ready to receive, and he gives Junta over at the far end of the bar a significant look. Junta paces calmly toward him with his usual, a "cola on the rocks" placed quietly and meaningfully in front of him, not slid across the counter, and he gives Hamada an even more significant look in response. Hamada chuckles resignedly and pulls his drink up to his quirked lips.

"So unambitious as usual," Hamada says over the noise, barely tilting his glass and slurping cola into his mouth. "And the dance music again! Let me play here sometime."

Junta frowns and slips a paper coaster onto the counter just as Hamada sets down his glass. "Who's ever heard of a nightclub that features a one-man guitar show?" Junta scoffs affectionately. "You trying to run me out of business?"

"I'm just saying, Junta," Hamada urges, and then he's suddenly, painfully aware that he has no idea where he's going with this, "it's the next... you should invest in me. You won't even recognize this place."

"So convincing," Junta says with a smirk. He jerks his thumb over his shoulder as if in time with the music. "Just finish your fake drink and get back here. I have to make the rounds."

Junta's nightclub is a small operation with an even smaller following, but it makes enough to stay afloat. He doesn't have that much to worry about anyway because it was his rich grandfather's support that got it up and running in the first place. Hamada stands behind the bar more than he sits in front of it, because he loves Junta enough to visit every night even if he can't hold his liquor, and Junta apparently prefers to have him work for free than slam down soft drinks and take up precious bar space where people could be giving them more money.

It's not the kind of place where the door twinkles open and Hamada can bellow a classy "welcome" -- the door simply creaks heavy with dreams, the beats from the dance floor too throbbing and compulsive to allow any sound to come through otherwise -- but he does so out of habit anyway, because anyone who's come to support his oldest friend is more than welcome to be there.

"Huh?" A man around Hamada's age slides into the bar. His voice is loud and his face even louder, like he's bloomed straight out of the Osakan soil, and he nods at a nearby mug of beer as he wiggles into a better position in his seat. An older, quieter version of the man slides into the seat next to him.

Hamada just shakes his head and smiles. "Two beers? You got it~"

It's a quiet night, with just the two at the bar and the DJ's usual dance crew fan club on the floor, and Hamada finds himself wiping down the same spot on the counter just to listen in on their conversation. They're related, the two of them, an older brother and a younger brother, Akito, trading blows at a quick tempo that Hamada easily falls into. Then the pistons slow. They sit in quiet meditation for long minutes. Hamada falls into that just as easily.

"You trying to wipe your way through the earth?" Akito lobs, and Hamada blinks and can't hit back because he's just noticed the patch on the counter where he's rubbed the lacquer dull. He hurriedly scoots a coaster over the spot and looks up with an attentive smile.

"'nother beer, Akito?" he says just as he notices the nine mugs he and his brother have between them. "Uh, let me get those out of your way."

Akito laughs and it hits Hamada's ears at just the right frequency that it's almost like he's harmonized with the air around him. "Even if you've been eavesdropping, you should pretend not to be on a first-name basis with me."

Hamada puts a hand behind his head and grits his teeth in feigned remorse, and Akito laughs again, and Hamada's stuck on that voice for a little while longer.

By the end of the night, they really are on a first-name basis, "Akito" in hiragana in Hamada's contact list because he can't get the characters to show up. Akito promises to come back soon even if his brother can't make it, and Hamada promises him it's not love because his face is whatever.

-

Hamada's got a certain patch of pavement where he stakes his claim a couple times a week after gigs. He already has his equipment with him, but he leaves his guitar unplugged and uses his amp case as his seat instead, strumming a few warm-up chords before picking through some classical arpeggios. Once his fingers are settled he goes back to chords, shifting from one to the next at a lazy pace, humming accompanying notes that sound good even though he doesn't understand why.

People don't usually stop for him -- his repertoire is a mix of random progressions that sound good and slow covers of the nightclub dance music, not good enough to get most people excited -- but he has a fan the same way the club DJ has his: a shorter man with a fashion sense big enough to fit fifteen people his size. He has sharp cheekbones and sharper eyes as he watches, unapologetically intent, arriving early and staying for as long as Hamada has music to make. He always leaves just as Hamada's putting his guitar away so they've never had a chance to talk, but even though they've never had any words between them, Hamada knows with confidence that he understands the other man completely.

-

It's with a great deal of disappointment that Hamada watches Junta and Akito interact. In a perfect world, Hamada's dearest friend and his newfound buddy would be getting along like water and more water (or like oolong tea and shochu if he had to pick the one alcoholic example he could manage), but his perfect world lies crumbled at the feet of a reality where Akito's overt personality doesn't mix well with Junta's reserved one, where Junta's bitingly direct comments hit nerves that Akito seems keen to protect. So Hamada gingerly brushes the debris under the bar and stands between them, softening the air enough that they can all have a conversation and still enjoy themselves. He's not sure where he got the gift of Balm, but he's happy to use it if it means he can spend more time with some of his favorite people.

Akito is a "freelance human being" living with his brother and his brother's girlfriend, and Hamada is quietly proud of the way Junta stops himself from making an unnecessary comment about people who don't work. He makes a living _living_ , he explains, and his grin hits wry at just the right angle that Hamada sends back as a joke what Junta was so close to making a serious comment just moments ago.

"So I'm free whenever you need an audience for your shows," Akito continues with a chuckle. "You could probably use the company, right?"

Hamada smiles, genuinely touched. "I'd take you up on it, but I told you last time, right? I mostly do weddings and private events. Boring stuff because they don't let me run free on my six-string." He narrows his eyes and stares off into the distance, watching the DJ make serious eyes at one of the dancing fanboys, the kid with a strong jaw who makes more requests for idol groups' music than anyone else. Maybe if Hamada's lucky, they'll fuck in the alley and not in the bathroom so he doesn't have to think about it when he's cleaning up.

"Look at this guy," Akito jabs. "He thinks he's a real musician."

Junta laughs, and Hamada catches the way Akito's eyes crinkle a little deeper because he's finally earned himself a new ally.

"Hey!" But the smile spreading across Hamada's face weakens his retort.

-

There are two new faces at the bar when Hamada arrives after a late gig. Both men are tall with long, sprawling limbs, and Hamada pretends to not be staring at them as he strides swiftly behind the bar. He always likes to put distance between himself and new people he's meeting, and he's careful not to look in Junta's direction because Junta's had years of experience dealing with how shy Hamada sometimes gets around strangers.

The men look up at the new arrival, and Hamada can't help but notice that they're both stupidly gorgeous. Hamada nods, and the one with a cigarette nods back before taking a drag. The other one meets Hamada's eyes and smiles this fresh and charming smile, and Hamada swears he can feel all of his joints melting straight into his skin because of it.

Hamada turns to Junta for help just to find him gone, probably making those damn rounds that really, really suck when Hamada needs him most.

The two men chat among themselves in close quarters, a hushed conversation littered by low laughs, but it only takes a few minutes for Hamada to determine, more relieved that he's willing to admit, that they aren't together as anything more than good friends. Jostling shoulders and nudging elbows, heads ducked together in front of a bright smartphone screen... it all suggests the kind of friendship that's built more on common interests than on complementary differences, the kind of friendship where they share anything and everything and therefore too much to make sense as lovers.

What's even more suggestive, though, is the way the charming one's eyes light up when he's singing along to the music and he catches Hamada staring at his lips. Hamada clears his throat and tells them to go dance -- DJ Mato likes it when the floor's busy, he explains. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the other man shake his head, and his cigarette bobs between his lips when he says that they don't dance together. "Though Nozomu doesn't dance alone, either." He grins and looks at his friend, and Hamada no longer has an excuse not to be giving this man his undivided attention.

The other man -- Nozomu -- stands up and tugs his clothes straight before looking back up at Hamada. He's taller than Hamada realized, and there's something Hamada enjoys about that because he's almost certainly younger, too. He can't quite predict the dynamic they'd have, but instead of scaring him into silence, it excites him.

"Let's go, then," he says, and Hamada doesn't remember how he gets from that moment to the next, when he's grinding his hips hard against Nozomu's, but he's not sure it's that important.

"Ryusei said he'd heard good things about this place. I'm glad I came along." They're close enough that Nozomu barely has to raise his voice to be heard over the music; Hamada can hear most of the words, and he can guess the rest by how Nozomu's lips are moving against his cheek.

"The one sitting at the bar?" Hamada asks, not sure where to put his hands because Junta's yelled at him before about dancing too dirty with new customers. He wraps his arms lightly around Nozomu's shoulders.

"Yep." Nozomu solves his dilemma by slipping his hands into Hamada's back pockets and pressing their hips even closer together, and Hamada's only half paying attention to the words as Nozomu continues -- Nozomu's a ronin getting ready to take college entrance exams again, and he works part-time at the chain family restaurant where Ryusei is a full-time employee. Nozomu rolls his hips hard, and Hamada gives back just as good as he gets, eliciting a low hum against his ear.

Hamada's given up on conversation, closing his eyes and moving in time with the beat, but when Nozomu starts to sing along to the music like he did at the bar, Hamada's eyes open wide and he stops moving, pulling back just enough to look at Nozomu's face. Nozomu's looking at him with furrowed eyebrows, but Hamada smiles assuringly. "Keep singing."

Nozomu has a distinctive voice. It's clear and soaring, still rough around the edges but with a settled core, and Nozomu cranks in and out of falsetto as the songs dictate. Hamada finds himself swaying his hips again, and staring at Nozomu's lips as they move in increasingly hushed tones. Eventually Hamada loses sight of them, and his eyes slip closed, enjoying the soft lips against his even more because he knows just how good they sound. Hamada turns his head and opens his mouth to deepen the kiss just in time to hear the enraged shrill of his name from behind the bar.

In retrospect, Hamada thinks as he takes his shoes off in his genkan and Nozomu's arms wrap around him from behind, his long fingers expertly working at his belt, he's glad Junta stopped them when he did. He'd hate to have to fuck such a beautiful man in such a popular bathroom.

-

Hamada finally catches his regular street live admirer one night, calling out before he leaves. Hamada's feeling a little more confident for some reason, like he has a musical direction even though all he's doing is strumming chords aimlessly as people pass by, pretending not to hear him. He supposes the excitement comes from some of the new people in his life, whose sense of rhythm and vocal tone hit him in such a simple and beautiful way. It's not within his logical capacity to explain it; all he knows is that Akito and Nozomu feel good to him, and all he wants to do is find a way to make all kinds of sounds together.

"Thanks for, er," Hamada says, stumbling over his words as he cautiously meets the other man's eyes. "Thanks for always stopping when I play. It may be a little forward of me, but I've always gotten the feeling that you understand what I do better than anyone else who hears this."

The other man nods sharply -- everything about this man is so sharp and precise -- and he smiles. "I get that feeling, too. Like you play for other reasons, but this is the music you really want to make."

Hamada smiles, and his nervous energy lifts off his shoulders into the cool night sky. He's never said it to anyone before, maybe not even to himself, but if anyone would get it, it would be this stranger in front of him: "I want to start a band."

Kamiyama shows up at the club the next night after having exchanged contact information with Hamada. As promised, he brings in tow his friend from the university where he's pursuing a degree in composition -- his friend isn't a music major, but he plays enough bass to get by and has said that he's interested in finding a way to practice more.

"Plus, I could use a break from my thesis," Shigeoka says. "Hate that thing," he adds casually, and he guffaws, consciously obnoxious. Hamada catches Junta glaring in disbelief because his sociological research on Tokyo Disney was the reason Hamada spent a year feeling like his best friend had dumped him for a thesis.

"What's your thesis about?" Hamada asks cautiously, his eyes still on Junta.

"Don't really know or care. Just gotta get it done~" Shigeoka says with a shrug, and Hamada grits his teeth in anticipation. He's sure Shigeoka does know and care quite a bit, but to Junta, not saying so properly is probably just as much of a sin as not knowing or caring to begin with.

"As the culmination of four years of developing in-depth research and analytical skills..." Hamada slowly drifts to the far, far side of the bar which is much too short for situations like these, wiping at stains that don't exist and planting well-timed noises of affirmation in the spots where Junta's paused long enough to sound like he's looking for validation. Shigeoka continues to make careless comments, to Junta's growing frustration (and, if Hamada is reading him right, to Shigeoka's own enjoyment, only increasing in satisfaction with every shocked retort from Junta).

Akito is about three decades late by how much time seems to have passed since the start of the conversation, but he finally makes it, and he breaks the thesis tension enough to snap Junta out of his rant, getting a beer in front of him before he even asks. Junta nods at him, obviously relieved for the company. Even though Akito's face says that he feels like a god because of it, Hamada can't be mad because he really did save the day.

"So," Hamada begins lumberingly after proper introductions have been made, "we're gathered here today..."

"To celebrate the union of Hama-chan and his stable hand? Get on with it."

Hamada looks severely at Akito and lets out a single venomous laugh, and then they break into real laughter. Hamada giggles his way through a weak retort and Akito starts making clop-clop-clop kiss noises back at him, and Hamada's too lost in this joke to remember what he was supposed to be doing.

He feels a hand on his back. "Come on already," Junta says calmly, pretending to be annoyed. He has a wide grin on his face, mirroring the ones on Kamiyama's and Shigeoka's faces on the other side of the bar. They'll all be fast friends, for sure.

"Anyway," Hamada tries again as the giggles subside, "we're going to start a band."

In his mind, the roles are all set: along with Hamada's guitar, Akito and Nozomu will sing, Kamiyama will play the drums (or any other instrument they need because he's a musical genius), and Shigeoka will play the bass. Akito's told him before that he's played a bit of bass, but Hamada has big plans for that voice and a lot of excitement to hear it together with Nozomu's.

"Where is this Kotaki guy anyway?" Kamiyama asks, craning his neck to look around at the scattered clientele. It seems like an innocent enough question, but Hamada can tell he's a little irritated. Hamada wanted them all together for their first meeting, too.

"Sorry," Hamada responds. He should have explained from the start. "He messaged me at the last minute to let me know that his family had to move a dinner for his sister to tonight. He's with them now." Hamada pulls out his phone and swipes through a few screens. "Here's what he looks like, though. Cute, right?"

He turns his phone toward the three across the bar, and Akito smirks, shadows pooling at the corners of his lips from the light of the screen. "So this is the stable hand. Though I can't say we can tell what his voice sounds like from this photo."

Hamada leaves the comment alone and puts his phone on the counter, waving his hand dismissively. "You'll meet him soon. You'll like him."

Kamiyama nods, satisfied for the moment. "I can book us a rehearsal room at the university, which saves me the trouble of bringing my drum kit here every time."

"Wait a minute, who said you're rehearsing here?"

"The guy who works here every night _for free_ because he's your best friend and he'd do anything for you." Hamada knows that Junta has nothing to push back with, so he turns completely toward him and looks into his eyes. "I love you, Junta."

Junta shoves him away with both arms. "Fine, I get it! Don't be gross!"

The plan -- not that there's much of a plan involved in starting a band -- is that they'll practice either at the club or at the university, playing covers as they get going and then original music whenever they get a chance to write some (and Kamiyama gets a chance to make it actually worthwhile to listen to). When they're good enough, they'll put on some shows.

"You'll need to talk to Matori if you want that performance night, though," Junta says seriously. "He's worked hard to earn the position that he has, and his mixes are _good_."

Shigeoka gives Junta a sidelong glance and brings his glass of water to his lips. "You're so lame."

"I just met you! And if you're going to sit at the bar, at least order alcohol!"

"Now, now," Shigeoka says, setting his drink down and patting the air in front of him with patronizing smile.

"Don't 'now, now' me!" Junta shoots back, turning away from the counter, his eyes scanning the liquor in front of him. He's probably planning to spike Shigeoka's next glass of water with pure vodka.

Shigeoka cackles delightedly, and from his spot behind the bar, Hamada sees the smile on Junta's face that nobody else can.

-

Hamada's glad to have Kamiyama on his side. They exchange messages regularly, talking about the respective music that they're doing for work or making for fun. He stops by every one of Hamada's street lives now, sometimes with his own guitar on his back, and Hamada scoots to the corner of his amp case to give Kamiyama space to sit down next to him. Hamada had assumed that Kamiyama was some kind of proud guitar prodigy since he's learning so many instruments, but he's actually really humble, hungry to learn and improve and get as much out of their sessions as he can. Together they can aim higher. Hamada gives them a chord progression to play, and Kamiyama places a wordless melody on top of it, and they must be doing something right because sometimes people actually stop and listen.

They always head to the club after that, and as the weeks pass, their talks about the music they want to make -- the music they're already making together -- start to get layered between talks about their lives, their interests, where they want to see themselves years down the road. Shigeoka's always beaten them to the club when they arrive, leaning into the counter and harassing Junta at the bar.

Hamada can feel the gratitude course through his veins every time he thinks about it: he leads a peaceful life, with good people who want to support him as he works for what he wants. It'll take them a while to get anywhere, but he doesn't mind the journey if the company is this good.

-

Hamada's apartment has become a second home to them -- and it's somehow strange yet completely natural that Hamada feels like his home is Junta's nightclub. His friends are what make the spaces he occupies special, so as his friendship with Akito deepens and he joins Junta in the ranks of people who know the code to get into the apartment building and where to put away the sugar after it's been used, Hamada's place feels more and more like a second watering hole for the people who make him feel the most like himself.

Nozomu is also a frequent fixture, for obvious reasons, though Hamada can't tell whether those reasons have a specific name to them. He's not sure if they're dating or hooking up or what, but they enjoy each other's company, and Nozomu's so cute and disarming that Hamada's happy to let him lie around the apartment as he desires, sleeping or studying or winding his limbs around Hamada every which way.

The best is part for Hamada is the opportunity to hear what he knew would be true when he heard their voices separately: Akito and Nozomu sound good together. Sometimes Hamada's practicing a classic rock song for a fan meeting, or a popular ballad that a bride has requested for her reception, and Akito and Nozomu will sing along under their breath as they read their respective books, or drop everything and belt at each other dramatically.

Junta will come by now and again and walk into something none of them could have expected: Akito and Nozomu sitting together on the couch in a lazy fight over the TV remote, which escalates into smartass remarks from Akito, and a soft slap across the cheek from Nozomu, some fiery words, and eventually Akito kicking his legs up begging for mercy from Nozomu's tickling fingers. Hamada will meet Junta's eyes across the room and know that the expression on Junta's face reflects his own: completely resigned and totally okay with it.

It's interesting, too, the way Nozomu divides his time depending on how much energy he has at any given moment. He might be curled against Hamada's side, pressing lazy kisses against Hamada's neck as he strums chords, or he might have saved up enough energy to take Akito into the spare room and get it all out there. Those are the days when Junta's left for the club early because he knows where things are headed, and Hamada just plugs his headphones into his guitar and practices at a loud enough volume to drown them out. But every once in a while he turns the volume all the way down, playing the same mindless chord because he has other music he wants to concentrate on, because he does, in fact, like the way their voices sound together.

One day when Nozomu's out at his part-time job, Akito comes over and drops himself onto the couch where Hamada's been busy staring at the wall across from him. They sit in peaceful silence for a long time, and Hamada's grateful for that, too. Hamada loves to make music of all kinds, and he loves that his apartment is always filled with it, but it's the quiet moments he has with people who understand him that make it all worthwhile.

"Hama-chan," Akito calls across the apartment sometime later. "Let's talk to the DJ tonight." Hamada's in his room working on lyrics, so he comes into the living room to find Akito on the couch, his finger on the power button of his e-reader until the screen flickers black.

Hamada stands at the edge of the room and nods more out of thought than out of agreement. He and Kamiyama had been sending song ideas back and forth, but they still hadn't actually rehearsed any of it as a group yet. "Do you think we're ready?"

Akito shrugs. "Don't you?"

-

The club isn't open yet, so no one's there except a handful of their friends on either side of the club. Shigeoka and Ryusei seem to have become friends over the course of their frequent visits, and they're sitting at the bar, Ryusei making futile attempts to keep the peace as Shigeoka throws small objects at Junta.

"Hamada-kun," Ryusei calls when he and Akito walk in. "Long time no see!" Shigeoka and Junta stop battling to look up as they walk toward the bar. It's been a while since Hamada and Ryusei have been at the club at the same time, though of course Hamada's heard all about him when Nozomu's talked about their various outings and gatherings with friends from work. "How's the band coming along?"

Hamada grins. "I don't know, but hopefully I'll find out soon." He turns to Shigeoka, who's sipping nonchalantly on his barley tea. "I see you've been practicing hard, Shige."

Shigeoka makes a serious face and bobs his head up and down a few times with significance. "Thesis." He takes another slow sip of his tea.

"Oh, what, you're in the band?" Ryusei turns to Shigeoka with wide eyes, and Shigeoka gives him a wink and peace sign. "I had no idea! I thought you were just here to bother Junta-kun."

"That's basically right," Junta chimes wryly, not bothering to acknowledge Shigeoka's piteous whining about how cruel Junta is. "His friend from the university is the one working on the music with Hama-chan."

"Cool," Ryusei says, his lips slanting upward. Hamada wishes they had a spot in the band for someone to stand around looking pretty, because Ryusei would be so good at it.

Hamada tilts his head toward the dance floor. "We're actually here to talk to the DJ to see if we can free up time for a band night. Or at least rehearsals. We've got a rehearsal room at the university booked but it's hard for everyone to do individual practice there since we don't have access to it without the students." He looks at Shigeoka, and Shigeoka gives him a politician's smile.

"Well, I'll come with Nozomu when you do finally have your rehearsal. I'd like to see you all together."

"Me, too!" Hamada says brightly, and laughter follows him as he and Akito make their way across the empty dance floor.

The house DJ, Matori, or "DJ Mato" as he's known in the industry, has a small but loyal following of people who go to the club specifically because his mixes are what they want to hear. The dance crew of seven constantly moves at a high level, owning the floor and making it as much a spectacle as it is an experience. Junta takes pride in having such good music and such good dancers to fill the space, and he's said on more than one occasion that the club would be nothing without all of them. So Hamada knows how much having Matori there means to Junta, to all of them for being such an important part of the place they all love so much. He also knows how nice Matori is behind all the studs and tight jeans that he wears on the job, and while he'd be able to state his case and he knows Matori would hear him out, he's glad Akito's there to do the real talking because Hamada can't make a cogent argument to save his life.

They call him over from where he's sitting on the back couches with his crew. He leaves them with a quick wave, his eyes lingering for longer than necessary on the one Hamada's almost positive at this point he's fucking.

Matori's a good guy, as always, willing to give more of himself than anyone deserves, so it makes Hamada feel even guiltier that they're asking him for some of his floor time when there's someone already there who knows what he's doing and deserves to be there. But they make a definite plan for practice time and the promise of an eventual band night, maybe a couple months out, which helps Hamada more than he expects. Finally, they have something to work toward, and a deadline to get there.

"Looking forward to your set," Matori says, genuinely excited; he loves music and he loves dancing, so he must have high hopes for the band night. He waves and heads back to be with his crew.

"We have a set?" Akito says with a laugh.

They turn toward each other and their eyes meet. "Do we even have a band?"

-

Kamiyama and Shigeoka are the last ones to arrive for their very first rehearsal. They're sitting around the bar when the door creaks open and Shigeoka walks in with his bass. Hamada waves him over, and Shigeoka ambles toward them. "Kami-chan's got a drum kit, so he's struggling a bit."

"Kami-chan?"

"Why aren't you helping him?!"

Shigeoka looks across the bar and gives Junta a saccharine smile. "Didn't want to lose another second that I could be spending looking at your face."

"Shut up."

"Wait a minute, Kami-chan?"

Nozomu frowns and looks at Ryusei. "What about Kami-chan?"

Kamiyama comes through the door then, rolling a large suitcase behind him, but he stops as soon as he spots Ryusei sitting at the bar.

"Ryusei? What are you doing here?"

"Kami-chan?!"

Nozomu stands up. "Wait, you guys know each other?"

"I didn't know Kami-chan was your other band member."

"I am, but wait. Wait, wait... who here knows Ryusei?"

"We all do. I work with him, but we all see him pretty regularly."

"And I never came up in conversation?!"

"Well, Nozomu only talks about his boytoys Hamada-kun and Akito-kun."

Hamada catches Akito's eye across the counter.

"And all Shige and Junta-kun do is flirt."

Hamada hears a small choking noise next to him.

"Good to see you, though! How long has it been?" Ryusei gets out of his seat and strides toward Kamiyama. "I didn't know you were the other--"

"Wait!" Akito cuts in. "Can we... I have... there's too much I need to comment on right now, but first of all, let's get this straight. You and you..." He points at Ryusei and Kamiyama in sequence.

"Are childhood friends," Kamiyama supplies.

"Wait. _What?!_ "

They're all treated to a brief but rambling personal history lesson about how the Kamiyama and Fujii families grew up together, and how the Kamiyama second son and the Fujii first son went to school together, and how they've been close friends for most of their lives, and how Ryusei knew that Kamiyama was studying music in college but they never got to see each other anymore because they were always busy at the wrong times, and how Ryusei actually knows how to play the guitar a bit because Kamiyama taught him some songs by that Kansai idol group he loves so much. It's a lot of information to process as they continue to grapple with the massive coincidence that is life, but Hamada grabs one point of interest that he doesn't want to let go of.

"Wait a minute," he laughs. "Now you're the one withholding. You never told me you play the guitar."

Ryusei shrugs. "Didn't seem important since you already have a guitarist. Besides, Junta-kun's not in the band either. I figured I'd watch with him."

"Don't worry about him," Akito says dismissively. "He's the most important member. He's our investor."

Shigeoka smiles sweetly across the counter. "He's my honey."

"You are the most annoying person I have ever met."

"And that answers the question I had about flirting. We'll get to Nozomu later," Akito says, shooting him a deadpan look, "but I think we're all caught up now, right?"

"Well," Hamada says. He looks at Ryusei and nods slowly, very satisfied with what he's about to say. "We could always use a second guitarusht."

"Sorry, what's a guitarusht?"

"You were so cool until you started talking."

"No wonder he's not one of the vocalists."

"Enough already!" Hamada waves his arms frantically and breaks into giggles despite himself. "Let's just rehearse!"

-

They spend the following weeks working on covers, since the only songs Ryusei can play without learning anything new are the ones by that idol group that are all about Osaka. Hamada and Junta make a dig at Kamiyama about his lack of Hyogo loyalty, but he says with such straight-forward eyes that many of their songs are about Kansai, too, that they decide to let him pick whatever songs he wants.

Their schedules rarely line up to make it possible for all of them to meet at once, so they find themselves splitting time in groups between the nightclub and the university rehearsal room when Kamiyama or Shigeoka are available. It's less about specific songs and more about skilling up on their own instruments anyway, so Hamada often comes in with his guitar and his headphones, plucking at the strings like he does at home until whoever it is that's there with him taps him out of his reverie and says they should run a few bars together.

It's less than ideal, and Hamada can feel a distinct difference in the amount of time and energy the members are putting into it -- Hamada and Kamiyama are the closest to it because they spend their time outside of the band doing music anyway; Akito and Nozomu (and Junta) are, wonderful as they are, just in it to make Hamada happy; Shigeoka and Ryusei care but are definitely the busiest out of all of them, with actual full-time research and work to manage.

Hamada sips on his cola and puts his glass back down on the counter with a sigh. Junta comes up next to him and puts an arm around his shoulders, picking the glass up and putting it back on its coaster.

"We'll get there. When things calm down for everyone, it'll all come together."

"Yeah," Hamada says, nodding. "But I hate that we had to postpone our first band night. Matori told me he was really looking forward to it, too. What a good guy."

"Don't worry, I'm sure he gets it. He's rooting for you, too."

Hamada nods, and they stand together and watch the masses move on the dance floor. DJ Mato's name has gotten some notoriety recently, so the nightclub has welcomed more newcomers, but with that comes the pressure of doing this place justice when their time to shine comes. Junta trusts him more than he deserves, and Hamada couldn't be more grateful.

Hamada's finger starts to pulse with the beat of the music as the mix shifts and the crowd moves in closer to the stage. "I wonder if he and Koja actually have sex in that bathroom."

"Don't say that," Junta says simply, eyes still on the dance floor.

Hamada grins and looks down, across the counter at the empty seat that Shigeoka's claimed nearly every night for the past few months. "Must be lonely without the love of your life here, now that he's actually working on his thesis."

"Don't say that either."

-

Hamada's apartment has essentially turned into an apartment for three. Akito's brother's girlfriend has recently become Akito's brother's fiancée, which was all the excuse Akito needed to finally stop leeching off his brother and leech off Hamada instead. Nozomu still lives at home but is very open with his family about his two boyfriends, and Hamada's received instructions from the Kotaki patriarch that as long as the older two keep Nozomu alive and happy and occasionally studying for his entrance exams, they've got nothing to worry about.

They practice at home, too, sometimes. Hamada plays the chords of songs he knows while Akito and Nozomu build harmonies off the melody line. None of them has the music theory background that Kamiyama has so they aren't counting on what they do to be practically useful for the band, but it's a nice way to stay connected with the music when they don't want to leave the apartment, or when they leave and come back and they need to find their harmony again.

Hamada comes home one day after a gig and finds Nozomu asleep on the couch, a Japanese history textbook lying pages-down against his chest. Hamada smiles and picks the textbook up, making a note of the page before setting it aside with his guitar case. He returns to the couch and strokes Nozomu's hair a couple of times. "So cute, Nonsuke."

Nozomu's features squeeze together and he shifts, stretching his arms out before opening his eyes. "Hama-chan," he says affectionately, and Hamada can almost hear the heart that punctuates his name. "Come see how warm I am."

As are about half the things Nozomu says (or doesn't say) around him, this is code language for wanting to cuddle. "Fine," Hamada says, perfectly happy to oblige.

Nozomu puts a hand around Hamada's wrist and tugs him down onto the couch, not shifting at all and letting Hamada fall right on top of him. "So heavy. Switch spots with me."

Hamada knows where this is going. He wiggles into the back of the couch and waits for Nozomu to roll onto his side before settling onto the cushions. "You're heavier than I am."

Nozomu gets up on his hands and knees over Hamada. "What a terrible thing to say to someone at such a delicate age." He starts to undo the buttons of Hamada's shirt, working his way down, until he gets it open and plants his hands right on Hamada's abs. His fingers trace the muscles as if he hasn't already done so a hundred times. Hamada steadies his breathing and just watches Nozomu's face as his hands move.

"You going to kiss me at some point?"

Nozomu tilts his head in feigned thought before returning his attention to Hamada's body. "Nah, I think I'll just do this for a while."

Hamada smirks. "What am I going to do with you?" Nozomu looks up at him with a grin, and Hamada takes the opportunity to lean up, putting his hand behind Nozomu's neck and bringing him down for a kiss. Nozomu's mouth opens immediately, and his tongue flicks out to lick at Hamada's lips before he sucks them into his mouth, nibbling at Hamada's lower lip. Hamada lowers himself back down and Nozomu comes with him, his hands brushing against Hamada's nipples and up across his shoulders as his lips and tongue and teeth work at Hamada's mouth. It usually takes more time for Nozomu to get warmed up after a nap, but they're both wide awake now, and Hamada doesn't mind the accelerated pace.

"Did you have a dirty dream or something?" Hamada whispers against Nozomu's lips, putting his hands on Nozomu's hips and pulling them down against his own. Nozomu groans and moves against him wordlessly. Seems like he did.

Nozomu breaks the kiss and tucks his head into Hamada's shoulder, just concentrating on rolling his hips. Hamada tightens his grip on Nozomu's hips and grinds up into him just as earnestly, enjoying the feeling of their cocks getting harder and harder through their pants.

"It was really dirty," Nozomu says breathlessly. "I was getting worked up with Akito-kun, and you were listening the way I know you always do." Hamada doesn't have the presence of mind to be embarrassed, just lets himself see what Nozomu was seeing. "But this time you were in the room watching us..." Nozomu bucks his hips hard, and Hamada gasps. "And this time you weren't shy about wanting in."

It takes a moment for the words to register in Hamada's head, and when they do he blinks his eyes open. Nozomu's stopped moving, and his face is centimeters away from Hamada's, too close to focus on both eyes at the same time. Hamada looks from one to the other before asking gently, "Is that what you want? You want the three of us?"

Nozomu nods slowly. He doesn't seem as nervous as Hamada thinks he'd be if he were in this situation. Maybe Nozomu's good at hiding that kind of thing, or maybe he just knows that it's all right to ask because with the three of them, everything will be okay, no matter what happens.

Hamada smiles and leans up for a small kiss. "Is Akito taking a nap? Let's go wake him up."

"I'm up," Akito calls, his voice muffled. The door to the spare room slides open. "I hate to break it to you, Hama-chan, but it's actually impossible not to hear when something's going on in this apartment. We knew you were eavesdropping all along."

Hamada grits his teeth dramatically and his eyes squint together. "Foiled again." Nozomu laughs and peels himself off, pulling Hamada up with him.

"So where are we doing this?" Akito says, surprisingly game for the one who isn't already disheveled and indecently half-hard.

"My room? It's got the only real bed in this place." They start walking toward Hamada's room together.

"You have condoms and stuff in there?"

"Don't be stupid, Akito."

"Maybe we should set up a system where we can get condoms and lube to drop down in an emergency situation like it's a sexy airplane."

"Nozomu, what are you even saying?"

"Oh, Nonsuke, I should say this now. I'm pretty excited about this and I think it'll be a lot of fun, but you're going to have to be in charge of looking at Akito. His body's not bad, but his face is whatever."

"How rude. I'm moving out! Oh, oops, I've got nowhere to go, ahaha!"

Nozomu smashes a punishing hand into Akito's face, but before Akito can protest, Nozomu brings the other hand up and pulls him in for a long kiss. When they part, their hands on each other's shoulders, they turn to Hamada in unison. "Yes, fall in love!"

Hamada points to the bed and yells, "Just get in there already!"

-

Their first original song finally comes together a week after their original opening band night. Hamada had compiled lyrics from everyone and put them together, and after countless voice mails with speaker-phone chord progressions and melody lines, messages full of arrangement ideas, and so many revisions he swears the names of the instruments aren't real words anymore, they have some sheet music and a demo CD. Hamada sends a message to the group chat and demands that they all meet as soon as possible, because he wants them to listen to their first song together.

Matori plays it for them on the house speakers, and it's actually a little too polished because Kamiyama's sung or played or programmed every part. Ryusei jokes that Kamiyama should just do all of the parts and save them the trouble, but when they get their sheet music and their part-by-part CDs, written and arranged in a way that each of them can understand, Ryusei's the one who looks over his sheets with eager, excited eyes.

Hamada knows how special it is to watch the dream of an old friend unfold, to be a part of that dream. He looks around the club, still young and new, still hollow before the night's begun, and when he catches Junta's eye he can't help the smile that bursts onto his face.

They all take their parts home with them, or in some cases to school, or to work. Hamada practices on his own at home; he lets Akito and Nozomu practice together because the vocals require different work than the instrumentals. The others seem to be doing well, too -- Ryusei's brought his guitar to work, using his smoking breaks to strum in the back room instead, and Kamiyama has scheduled mental health breaks for Shigeoka when he can step away from his research and work on his bass part. Sometimes he calls Junta and has him listen. Junta answers those calls at the bar and his lips spread wide across his face, and Hamada calls him adorable, and the smile drops immediately. Junta shoots him a dirty look and shuffles away with his hand cupped surreptitiously around his phone, and Hamada can't help but laugh.

-

It's been a long time since Hamada's played on the street. The reception he'd just finished was for a few dozen people, some kind of retirement party in a classy ballroom before everyone moved on to an izakaya and the real party began. He'd wanted to recommend Junta's nightclub, but he wasn't sure they were the right clientele, so he just packed up his guitar and left.

It's heading into autumn and the air is getting cooler. The sun is getting tired, too, drifting down into sleep earlier and earlier each day. Hamada puts his amp and guitar case down in his spot, and he zips his jacket up before sending Akito and Nozomu a message. He won't be coming home right away so they should go ahead and have dinner without him.

They show up together when Hamada's halfway through the third song he's playing, one of the Kansai ones from Kamiyama's beloved idol group. They know the words, of course, so they start singing from paces away and stand together on either side of Hamada to finish the final refrain.

"You guys didn't have to show up," Hamada says, too happy to bother hiding his smile.

"We just felt like being here with you," Akito says. "We can get dinner together later before we meet up with everyone at the club."

"Oh, Ryusei's joining us," Nozomu adds. "He says he never gets to listen to street lives, so he'll come this way after he's done with his shift."

Hamada laughs wryly as he readjusts his guitar in his lap. "You know, between the three of you, that's the most I'll ever have had stay in this spot at one time."

Kamiyama shows up when Ryusei does, coming in opposite directions from school and work. Kamiyama puts his guitar case down next to Hamada's and takes it out, handing it wordlessly to Ryusei before walking down the street.

"Huh? What?"

Kamiyama comes back when Hamada's trying to teach Ryusei some arpeggios, a worn, wooden crate in hand. He flips it upside-down and sets it next to Hamada's amp case, settling in on top of it. He gives a satisfied nod, sharp and economical as always. "Now we've got our percussion. Ryusei, play."

"What?" Ryusei laughs, tangibly confused. "I just came to listen."

"Hey, all we need at this rate is Shige and Junta-kun. Let's call them up." Akito pulls out his phone and starts to scrolls through the contacts.

Ryusei shakes his head. "Shige told me he wouldn't be at the club tonight, so he probably has plans."

"And Junta might be hard to grab. He doesn't like leaving the club when I'm not there." Hamada turns to look at the others and is startled to see Kamiyama staring at him, eyes fierce. "Uh, look, we'll catch up with the others later. I think Kami-chan's ready to make some music now."

Kamiyama's features soften and he laughs. "I don't know what image you have of me, Hama-chan, but you don't have to take me so seriously. But yes, let's play some damn music now!"

Hamada's impromptu street sessions with Kamiyama were always easier to manage than having five people weaving in and out of parts. Hamada's technically a professional musician, and Kamiyama's getting the training to be one, so what the two of them are used to in performing doesn't come as naturally to the other three. There are some missed entrances and off-key attempts at harmonizing, but it's good to know where they stand with the pieces they have now.

The moon is high when Junta shows up, shocking Hamada out of his chord progression. He stands up, and the other four continue playing and singing without him. "What are you doing here? Did Akito call you?"

"Huh? No, why would he call me?" Junta rolls his sleeve back and looks quickly at his watch before continuing his thought. "I was just going for a walk and I saw a bunch of suspicious guys I knew, so I thought I'd come by."

"What about the club? It's open now, isn't it?" Hamada pulls out his phone to check the time and notices a missed call instead. Junta?

"Left Matori and his friends in charge. I tried calling you but you didn't answer, so I figured you were out here."

"Yeah, just saw that. Sorry."

Akito steps into their conversation. "Where are you headed? I didn't know you had a life."

Junta cocks an eyebrow in warning before he responds, "Just going for a walk." He looks at his watch again. "Should probably get going soon."

"A walk with deadline?" Akito says, putting his fingers on his chin in consideration. "What if we kept you here instead?"

"Oh?" Hamada hears a familiar voice some meters down the street, and the final chords of the song the other three are finishing ring into the air. Shigeoka walks toward them with his hands stuffed deep in his pockets and stands a carefully moderate distance away from Junta. Hamada catches Junta's eye and smirks; he can see the way Junta's jaw clenches and his eyes widen as he pleads for discretion.

Hamada will allow it this time. The perks of being the best friend is that he'll get all the details first.

"We're all here, then!" Kamiyama says as he stands up, his hands on his hips in triumphant little fists. "Have we all practiced our parts?"

"Now? We're actually doing this now?" Akito says. He tugs his sleeves up and rubs his hands together. "All right, let's do it."

Shigeoka clicks his tongue. "Damn, I didn't bring my bass. Oh well, I guess I can't play with you this time."

"Oh, it's fine!" Nozomu says, waving a hand easily. "Just sing your part." Ryusei laughs and Nozomu turns to him to laugh along, and they sputter a low "dum-dum-dum" among themselves as if it were anywhere close to musical.

"Dumbasses," Junta mutters. "We're all dumbasses here."

It's the first time they've put all the parts together themselves. There are some compromises that have to be made considering where they are and how early it is for them to be trying -- their guitars can't make the same effects without the amps; their vocals hit most of the notes except for the ones where they have to overcompensate for the noise around them; their crate-cajon percussion is supplemented by the chatter of conversation and the shuffling of feet; their bass doesn't even make any sound as it's air-plucked by their cold bassist, their silent investor with his arm around his shoulders, trying to keep them both warm.

It's just as messy and unpolished as Hamada would have expected it to be, and he takes mental notes to discuss with Kamiyama before they have their next rehearsal.

But for now, for now... Hamada's band is real, and they're singing with one voice, and their music rises up into the starry night sky.

+++

The problem with band night at Junta's nightclub is that there isn't a real backstage area for them to set up. Their instrument cases are scattered behind the bar and stashed in the storage room next to it, where they're huddled together like nervous schoolchildren awaiting their cue during a school play.

Hamada pokes his head out and hisses at Junta to get his attention. Junta turns to him, obviously annoyed, because it's the fourth time in the past ten minutes Hamada's needed him. He stomps back toward Hamada and slaps his hands down on his shoulders. "Hama-chan, you will be _fine_."

Hamada feels the grin on his face, and it must be a combination of adrenaline and nerves because he can't seem to turn it off. "I know," he says, unconvincingly and unconvinced.

Junta sighs. "Do you need me to go through it again?"

Hamada nods. It's more for comfort than anything else.

"Matori's opening now, and when he's done with his set, his dance crew is going to do a number on the floor. After that, he'll introduce the band, and they'll pull the instruments forward so all you have to do is show up. You need to introduce the band before the first song and get the crowd worked up, but after that you can leave the talking to Akito. He'll be up there to take care of you. They all will."

"And you'll be here."

"I'll be here the whole time."

"And we'll be fine."

"You'll be _great_."

Hamada nods to himself and hops in place a couple times, exhaling. He looks up at Junta and smiles for real. "Thank you. For all of this."

Junta grins. "When you're done, I'll slide you a cola on the rocks across the bar."

Hamada heads back into the storage room, and everyone looks up at him. "Junta says we'll be great," he reports, and he's met with a chorus of jabs about how they'd all said so earlier, and how Hamada really needs to work on his stage fright, and how Junta's opinion doesn't matter because he's only in the band as eye candy anyway.

When their name is finally called, Hamada looks around the storage room at his friends. They're all looking back at him. Shigeoka, Akito, Ryusei, Kamiyama, Nozomu: five new friends he met by chance, or by coincidence, or maybe even by destiny, who came from different places to be a part of his dream, whose dreams are all now Hamada's dreams, too. And Junta's there, always has been and always will be, the first one to make his dream a reality. He's waiting behind the bar, ready to high-five them as they come out of hiding and run toward their dreams together.

Hamada turns to face the door and takes a deep breath.  



End file.
